


Cute on the Commute

by rockbrigade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockbrigade/pseuds/rockbrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love -- Well, Lust -- is in the air! ...Depending on whether Tezuka listens to Oishi's advice, or Fuji's. An encounter at a train station gets Tezuka's attention. The commute just got a lot more interesting! </p>
<p>(Tezuka>Echizen, for <a href="http://solosorca.tumblr.com">Solosorca</a>! AU based on the concept of "Rush Hour Crush". The Golden Pair are a side pairing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cute on the Commute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SolosOrca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolosOrca/gifts).



His hand curled around the straphanger, and he felt himself sway with it as the train shunted. The speaker announced the stop for the tennis gardens, and so he folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm. He became, in that drowsy rush-hour way, gradually more aware of his surroundings; the hubbub of a congested car, packed full of people trying not to speak to one another. The scenery outside the window, a repeating blur of trees and buildings, began to nonetheless appear familiar -- that office block, that piece of graffiti -- landmarks to welcome him home. His home club, or, the home-from-home, the smell of fresh dew on the cropped grass courts of a summer morning was, these days, more home to him than the sparseness of a gleaming apartment block, built for the young-but-well-to-do; trying his best to tack his shoes on the ever freshly mopped lobby tiles, nodding to the janitor as he left. He longed to let grass and mud and rain soak through him, and eat away the aura of disinfectant and lemon-fresh that were his constant companions. 

The space between the thudding of the tracks widened, and passengers congregated around the doors in anticipation of the stop. Tezuka released his grip and moved into step behind the group. The placing of a mirror drew his attention to a bright white tennis cap in the crowd ahead, and as the train pulled to a stop, and the doors opened, it seemed to bob its way out onto the platform, buoyant atop a wave of commuters. Tezuka adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and exited the train. The station was a parting of the ways, with the train's former passengers taking each their separate routes, branching out crosswise along speckled beige tiles, heels and suitcase wheels clicking on the joins. Tezuka joined the pool of commuters, milling their way up the stairs towards the exit for the tennis garden. Keep to the left. He braced his hand against the rail, priming himself on the balls of his feet for the inch of movement that would let him take a step. And to his right, a man, maybe a little younger than Tezuka was, in that brilliant white tennis cap, hopped up the staircase on the right hand side, sipping a drinks can and offending the descending travellers. 

The man dodged around them with quick and light steps, racing to the top, and as he passed Tezuka, he muttered, "'scuse," and disappeared out of view. 

The early summer sun was bright, but not warm enough to take the chill out of the wind. Tezuka pulled the zip of his jacket up to his neck. He followed the usual road to the tennis gardens, waiting patiently at the cross lights, climbing the stairs to the pedestrian bridge, nodding with his usual politeness to the people he passed going in the opposite direction. And the passing of cars on the roads became hushed, and his feet touched green grass for the first time that morning, and the air burst alive with the pock of tennis balls hitting racquets, somewhere in the green mesh gates ahead. The path crunched beneath his shoes, and every court Tezuka passed was occupied; he stopped for a few seconds, to check each game, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the players. The tennis garden, home to one of Tokyo's largest private tennis clubs, is proud to announce another record-breaking year of new player memberships, so the display in the reception said, taking Tezuka's attention as he waited to be called to the desk. He signed in, and got his locker keys, and every white tennis cap his eyes passed over made his heart freeze. He sighed, frowning at himself, adjusting his glasses. New members in the tennis garden, that was a yearly occurrence, and Tezuka had never once before felt even the slightest bit curious about them. And yet-- 

"Curious?" Fuji completed his warm up stretch, and smiled at Tezuka. "I wonder if curiosity is all it is. You make it sound like you've never been pushed aside on a rush hour commute before." 

Tezuka fiddled with the position of his wristband. "Of course I have. However, it is likely he is a member of this club. It would not do anyone any good for people to think that the members here have no sense of manners." He stepped up to his side of the net, waiting against it for Fuji to get into position. 

"Don't tell me you're trying to find him just to lecture him? The guy was probably running late, it happens to the best of us." Fuji stood on the other side of the net, proffering his hand, and Tezuka took it and shook. 

"It has never happened to me," Tezuka said, and turned away with a finality he intended to close the conversation. He was almost at the baseline, when Fuji called out,

"You're not a truant officer, you know, Mr. Perfect!" 

Tezuka's favourite drop shot closed the first game, and Fuji, panting, raised his arm in the air and called for a break. They sat on the bench just inside the court, Tezuka pulling his bag out from beneath the seat to find his water, while Fuji mopped his face with the towel he'd hung around his neck. Footsteps rustled the gravel outside the wire fence, and Tezuka lifted his head to see who was passing them. "Gosh, you'll be searching everyone's bags for a white cap and a drinks can next," and Tezuka harrumphed and sipped on his bottle. "I don't think you're really being honest with yourself if you really believe you're looking for a fight with this guy." Fuji laughed, smiling his pleasant smile, the one that felt about as pleasant as running in wet shoes. He patted Tezuka on the shoulder with a lazy arm, "well, good luck extraditing him from the club. This town ain't big enough for the both of you, or something," and he stood up from the bench, draping his towel over the backrest. Fuji jogged on the spot, getting his leg muscles ready for the next point, "but first, you've got to settle our match. Let's go?"

The roads had slowed to the lull of mid-afternoon traffic as he once again passed over the pedestrian bridge towards the station. The distant passing cars on the road below seemed to shimmer in the light, as if viewed from behind a thick sheet of ornamental glass. Tezuka felt his glasses bending the midday sun into bright sunspots on his cheeks, and in wiping the sweat from his forehead, the hairs of his fringe became damp and stuck to his face. The shade of the station, of its rushing trains and billowing tunnels, and all its cold tiled floors and colder, metal seats, were deeply and heartily appreciated. Tezuka leaned back in the chair, letting the sharp coolness seep through sweat on the back of his shirt. He closed his eyes and allowed his heart rate to drop. And when he opened them, there in his line of view was the man in the white cap, standing with a hand in one pocket of his shorts, and staring with rapt attention at the phone he held in the other. Tezuka leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, and watched him. The man stood squat in the middle of the platform, oblivious, or perhaps uncaring, to the ebb and flow of people around him; trolleys stopped short and swerved around him, groups of friends disbanded temporarily to pass him. Without a word, the station changed to suit him, as if he were just another of the huge, tiled pillars that supported the ceiling. 

Tezuka frowned, and then, just as he made up his mind and got to his feet, the train rolled up to the platform. He gathered up his bag and waited at the nearest set of doors, but he kept his eyes on that white tennis cap up until the doors chimed for him to enter. The train interior looked much larger on the way home, and Tezuka had no problem finding his way to a seat. He settled into it and felt the engine rattling through him as he set his mind to wander. The sun peeked into his window with a rude glare, blinking on and off as the buildings passed, and what he had looked forward to being a soporific and pleasant journey, in actuality was tiring in the negative sense. Draining. The heat that swallowed him wasn't like bed sheets at the end of a long day, instead it was soupy, and the pressure throbbed in his head. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his temple, and he couldn't stop thinking about the man in the white hat. There was a little angry flame in his heart, usually tame, but it seemed to burn brightly under the encouragement of the hateful sun, and Tezuka screwed his eyes tight, why didn't I approach him? The knowledge that the man was aboard the train somewhere prickled at Tezuka's skin and thudded in his veins, as if the man was sat in the seat behind and kicking, kicking, kicking. 

His chest heaved. He put his glasses back on his face, and now the thought had occurred to him, he couldn't shake it. His eyes slipped to the side, but he refused to turn his head. Still, his eyes moved down to the lower corner of the window, and every time, his face turned with it by degrees, until eventually Tezuka convinced himself he wanted to be looking out at the scenery outside. And he saw the scenery outside. But his mind's eye focused on the image of that hat, white hot in this summer sun, and his own angry face coming out of the black surprised him. A tunnel. And Tezuka unwound his thoughts, untensed his shoulders in that smooth darkness. He breathed. And then the man's reflection stepped into the window. Tezuka blinked, and then, calm, collected, he turned his face toward the aisle. The man was still pressing buttons on his phone, but he rested one hand against the seats in the row in front of where Tezuka was sat, and waited. And the announcer read the station. There was a delay, and then he looked up, and the train rolled out of its tunnel. Then he turned towards Tezuka. 

Eyes that were sharp and cat-like, flickering a moment, and then glowing gold as they caught the sun through the window. Tezuka had been caught, but he tried not to flinch. Those eyes rounded as the man smirked, or no, was that just a smile? But somehow it brought with it a powerful confidence that Tezuka couldn't help but wonder at. The train arrived at the station, and the doors slid open. "'scuse," the man said, pulling at the brim of his hat and nodding to Tezuka as he exited the train. The doors closed again, and the train swayed on the line as it picked up speed, and Tezuka swayed with it. He shook his head, took the newspaper out of his bag and spread it open, but though his eyes could focus on the words, his mind refused to read them. Instead it tried, how many useless, frustrating ways, it tried to read those big, gold eyes, the smile, the nod of the head. And the buzzer sounded, making Tezuka jump - standing in the middle of his apartment, holding a saucepan of all things - he put the saucepan on the kitchen counter and rushed to the handset on the wall. He put it to his ear and defied the part of himself, the part warmed and charred with the glowing embers of something, that imagined the man from the train was waiting for him outside. 

"Hello?" he said, and his stomach plummeted in a kind of relief to know the voice on the line, "I'll buzz you in," he said, holding down the button until the buzzing clicked off with the latch of the door opening. Tezuka paced back to the kitchen counter and peered into the saucepan, trying to remember what he was doing with it, and then there was a knock at his door, that cheery 2-2-1 beat that was almost a calling card, and Tezuka moved over to the door to let him in. "Oishi," he said in greeting, and stepped aside to let him pass. 

"Hi, Tezuka! How are you this evening?" Oishi's smile was bright, and under the stylish glow of the spotlights in Tezuka's apartment, Oishi's face seemed pinkish over his cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose, and on his bare forearms. 

"Good," Tezuka said, attracting no suspicion. "Oishi, you should take care in the sun," and Oishi smiled and frowned at the same time, running a self-conscious hand over his arm. 

"Oh, it's like you to notice before anything else," he said weakly, "I suppose it sets a bit of a bad example… for a physician… It's just the sun was really out in force today! The forecast said rain, so when--" he cut himself off. "Don't worry, it was a one-time thing!" Oishi's laugh was nervous, but it reassured Tezuka. "Anyway, I'm not here about my health!" He lifted the bag he'd been carrying to chest-level and patted it. 

"Sit down first," Tezuka said, putting a hand to his own shoulder, perhaps self-consciously, "would you like a drink?" 

"If you have iced tea, that would be great -- or even just water, I don't mean to trouble you," Oishi set his equipment up on Tezuka's couch, and raised his voice so Tezuka could still hear him, even in the kitchen, "but it's really gotten warm these last few days, hasn’t it? You must be thrilled, I mean, tennis season is back. Any big tournaments lined up this year? But I've been looking forward to summer as well, I mean, he gets so energetic this time of year, and I--" Tezuka stood in front of the couch with a little drinks tray in his hands. "Thank you so much!" Oishi said as he took one of the glasses, and Tezuka sat beside him on the couch. 

They sipped their drinks in silence, and Tezuka said, in a quiet voice, "What were you saying?" and Oishi's face turned redder. 

"Nah, it's nothing, I'm such a blabbermouth going on and on! Sorry… I should be asking what you've been up to?" He straightened his back and looked at Tezuka with keen eyes. And Tezuka blinked at him. Then he looked into his glass. He heard Oishi shift in his seat, and then he caught a glimpse of Oishi's face as he tilted his head to the side. "…Did something… happen?" 

Tezuka raised his face, "No," he said. The silence stretched out again, filling Tezuka's ears until they buzzed for lack of hearing. "Well, I had a friendly match with Fuji at the club this morning," he said. 

Oishi frowned, placing his glass on the coffee table in front of them, "oh no, did it set off your injury? Let me just get on with that check up," he said, twisting in his seat to find his notes. 

"No, there was no issue with the match," Tezuka said, and Oishi turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "That's just… that's what I did today…" 

Silence again. "I see," Oishi said, pulling his cheeks back into a smile, "well, that's good. Good that there was no mishaps or anything, I'll just get the exam out of the way." He took Tezuka's arm in both his hands and lifted the shoulder, then bent Tezuka's arm for him at the elbow. "I'll bet you won again, hey?" he said, without looking up from what he was doing, but Tezuka only nodded in reply. "Sorry, Tezuka, I kind of… I don't know, I thought maybe there was something on your mind." Tezuka opened his mouth, but Oishi said, "anyways, you know how I worry! And you're right," he turned back to his notes, clicking on a pen and scribbling something, "doesn't seem to be any problem with your arm at all, so we're all good!"

Tezuka stared at the wall ahead, listening to the hush of Oishi's hand as it moved across paper, then the thunderclap-in-miniature of a page turning, and Tezuka said, "There was a man on the train…" Oishi's hand stopped moving. And then he looked up at Tezuka.

"A man?" Tezuka nodded. "What happened?" 

"He cut in the line at the station. Got out at the tennis garden, wearing tennis gear. He… smiled at me," Tezuka frowned at himself and Oishi chuckled. 

"Oh, so this man caught your interest? I didn't know you were looking for a rival. So, did you see him at the club? Was he any good?" Tezuka shook his head. 

"I never saw him play," and Tezuka knew there was disappointment in his own voice, "but it seems he rides the same train as me." 

Oishi beamed, and gave Tezuka a cheerful pat on the knee, "you should have a chat with him! You never know, if he's at your club, you might be seeing each other a lot!" Tezuka thought about it, and then nodded reluctantly. "Great, that's the spirit! You can never have too many friends!" Oishi shuffled his papers on his knee. "Okay, sign this for me? And I'd better get going, get out of your hair!" 

Tezuka took the forms, and Oishi began to check he had everything in his bag. He looked at the coffee table, did a double take, and checked his own bag again. 

"Oh, you read that paper, too? I thought that was my copy for a moment!" he laughed, and took the medical forms from Tezuka. "It's good to read on the commute. My favourite thing is that… you know.. Cute on the Commute section!" He smiled at Tezuka, but Tezuka just shook his head slowly, "Ohh, readers write in to get the attention of the people they've taken a shine to, who they've seen on the way to work! It might just be me, but I think it's wonderful! Love really is everywhere, isn't it?" and his eyes sparkled as he spoke. 

In the pulsing dark of his room, glasses off, and the hazy light reaching down for him from the ceiling, and Tezuka thought about love being everywhere. Was it there, on the train, packed full of people? Was there room? Love, pushing itself in through the gaps in the doors, swirling through the handles of luggage bags and rustling the newspapers. Or maybe it rose from the depths of the tunnels they sprinted through, seeping in and out of every pore with the sweat, and flushing everyone's faces. Tezuka's hands curled about it, even now, gripped tight, for stability as the train shook and took them God knows where. Cat-like eyes. And why would love be in half a word, muttered twice, in passing? Tezuka looked down at his shoes -- at the crowd of shoes on the carriage floor -- and let there be a soft ache in his chest. A foolish ache, impossible, but he knew himself now to be in danger of such a feeling and loved, loved himself for it all the more. 

Tennis gardens, next stop. The crowd of commuters mumbled and rustled, preparing themselves for the exodus. A white tennis hat made its way though the spaces between travellers, moving one handrail at a time. The man came to a stop on a rail close to Tezuka, and the train slowed to its place at the station platform. Tezuka leaned towards the man, frowning, "Excuse me," he said, and those sharp eyes -- not so gold in the morning, Tezuka thought -- were somehow wary. "Are you going to the tennis gardens?" Tezuka said, and basking in the smirk he recognised even before the words were out of his mouth. 

"I'm gonna get there first!" The man said, and the doors opened and discharged its passengers, carrying that white hat away. Tezuka's feet touched the tiles of the platform, bustled along on their way to the stairs by the shoal of travellers behind and around him. But no matter how he followed the pedestrian flow, no matter how he stepped to move through the crowd by degrees, that bright white hat remained far distant to him, like racing over the grey Earth and chasing after the moon. 

Tezuka rested his hand flat against the frame of his glasses, shielding his eyes from the sun. Far behind the furniture of cars and roads and city blocks, a wallpaper of hazy blue and green landscape rose between the lampposts and offices. And his stomach fizzed on the last two steps, ascending the pedestrian bridge, for ahead of him but so far away, sat the mountain in all its glory, the sun hitting the ridges and making them pale, but lacking the force to erase the white from the summit. He descended, and his stomach dropped with him, step by step to the thudding of the tennis club on the other side of the fence. Every beat of every point of every game thudded within him as he passed the courts, feeling the gravel path below him quake with the force of it, and every roar and cheer of passion or celebration seemed loud in his ears and his heart tensed with them. And the blood that rushed after that tickled in his veins, and it felt like the sound of a wind chime on the breeze. 

Tezuka found his locker, and on the bench in front of it, Fuji sat, tying his shoes. Fuji looked up and his eyes glinted for a moment as they lit upon Tezuka, and then relaxed again into his usual smile. "Dear me, Tezuka, that's a terrible face… even for you!" When he looked down at his laces, his fringe fell over his face, and the little smile still poked at his cheeks. "What happened? Did you get into a fight with White Tennis Hat?" 

"No," Tezuka said, concentrating on opening his locker. He put his bag on the bench just beside Fuji and opened it, taking out his valuables and storing them in the locker. That morning's newspaper had been resting on top of his tennis gear, and in disturbing the contents of his bag, the paper in its multicolour scroll, stuck out with the curving edges of the pages at the top of the cylinder. It caught Fuji's eye, and he lifted it out of the bag and unrolled it. 

"Ah, so you read this paper?" Fuji said, smiling as he turned the pages, "I used to read it a lot, back when I'd commute on the train. I wonder, do they have that section--" he turned more pages, and then, without finishing his sentence, he folded the paper on his knee. "You really do seem stiffer than usual today," Fuji said, giggling at his own innuendo, and Tezuka just shot him a sharp look from the corner of his eye. "Oh, don't give me that, Mr. Perfect! You're no different to anyone else, deep down. So what is it? Is this mystery man of yours keeping you up all night?" 

"I slept fine, thank you," Tezuka said, lying. He closed his locker with a curt movement, and Fuji tutted at him. 

"Well somebody ought to be, keeping you up, that is." Fuji picked up the paper, and started leafing through it again, content to drop the conversation there. And Tezuka got changed, his fingers tensing into uneasy fists between fastening the buttons on his shirt. 

"I saw him on the train this morning. The man," Tezuka said, and in the aching of his chest, he already regretted his decision. Fuji raised his face, listening with the smile Tezuka hated. "I asked if he was heading to the tennis gardens." 

There was a pause in which Tezuka slipped on his wristband, and then put his glasses back on. "And…?" Fuji said, rolling his hand for more details. Tezuka pulled downwards on his polo shirt, then sat down next to Fuji and began to tie his shoelaces. 

"He said, 'I'll get there first'," Tezuka said. He kept his voice even, but Fuji hummed, like he knew the sound of Tezuka asking a question when he heard it. 

"What could that mean?" Fuji said, curling a knuckle against his lip and smiling. "You didn't threaten him, did you? That you might… come first?" and Tezuka resented the glee with which Fuji stressed those last two words. 

"I was not at all aware that it was a race," Tezuka said, shutting him down. 

"No," Fuji giggled, "the best ones aren't anyway." Tezuka stood and turned to leave. "Hey, you can't leave your opponent behind, not while I waited for you so nicely!" 

"You waited," Tezuka said, over his shoulder, "You just waited. That's all." 

The man in the white hat wasn't there on the station when the train pulled in, and Tezuka sat in a seat by a set of the doors, but when they pulled up to the station -- the man's stop, so Tezuka figured -- he didn’t spot him in the trickle of passengers who exited to the sound of the beep. The hungry feeling in his empty stomach was disappointment, and he fed it by wondering why the man was not on the train today. When he said he'd get to the tennis garden first, he was trying to get away; Tezuka's mind lingered over the memory of the man's split-second wary look when he'd called out to him. Yes, wary, because after all, Tezuka's friends joked time and again about his intimidating look and presence, and with your talents! They'd say, opening their hands towards him, or patting him on the shoulder, laughing and emphasising the words, well, it's no wonder! Tezuka bit down on his teeth and crossed his arms. It was a wonder, to him, although, he remembered with what relish he'd imagined the man kicking at his seat on the train from the seat behind, the heat in his blood more appetising to him as an anger than… than what he thought it was now. You're no different to anyone else, deep down, Fuji had said, and Tezuka screwed his eyes shut, shut it out, shut that out. And the hungry feeling in his stomach was disgust, now it was disgust. 

He let the rhythm of the tracks fill his ears and fill his mind, and he counted them. 24, 25, then he opened his eyes, and realised his face was sore from scowling. He picked up his bag and fished out the newspaper Fuji had been so interested in earlier, and found it turned to the page he knew he wanted. His eyes landed on the purple box, with the cutesy hearts at the corners, and the lettering drew his eyes over each entry. Cute on the Commute - has someone caught your eye -- or heart -- on the way to work? Leave that lucky someone some lovin'! Tezuka skipped over each one, his chest burning, To the redhead with the slanted fringe: don't run away from my love! To the man in the plain green coat: the bus driver nearly missed you, but you brightened my morning. To the skinny guy with his fringe dyed white, on the night bus at 3am, I'd jump your bones! And this is what Oishi meant, this was the tingle of love Tezuka imagined in every tucked-in pair of arms, in every stepped-on set of toes, on the morning train. It was ridiculous, and Tezuka's face was hot, even so, because why not? And in front of his mirror while he brushed his teeth at night, he imagined how he'd compose the words. I asked you if you were heading to the tennis garden. 

Tezuka plucked the topmost paper out of the news stand as he passed into the station, and folded it under his arm. The warm orange of the arrivals board felt soft on his eyes, already used to brightness from the morning sun. He jogged down to his platform, checked his watch against the station clock, and shook out the paper. There was a knot in his stomach, but he ignored it: read the headlines, business, interest articles, and he let it build inside of him. Finally, his hand was on the page, the one he'd turn to reveal that little purple box (as his eyes didn't fail to see its place on the contents list) and the voice overhead warned that his train would be approaching next. He closed the paper, folding it again, and holding it down with the pressure of his arm, and he let his stomach knot again as he passed through the doors and made his way to a seat. 

To the little guy, running after the bus: your voice was surprisingly loud when you yelled at the driver to stop, call on me sometime? The dude with crazy ginger hair, fixing your hairdo in the station toilets - you laughed at my T-shirt. Coffee? To the man with the white tennis hat on the train-- Tezuka felt his stomach plummet, his shaking hands rustled the paper -- I asked if you were headed to the tennis garden, but you beat me in getting there. Maybe I can beat you in a tennis match? Tezuka felt the sweat beading on his forehead. It was signed, From the guy with a stern face and glasses. The train stopped, and as more passengers swarmed onto the train, Tezuka got to his feet, offering his seat to an older lady, but even as she thanked him, he didn’t hear her. He held the straphanger, and the whole of his body felt like it swayed with the thudding of his heart, and his feet seemed close and far away with every pulse. Then the voice overhead announced his stop, the man with the white hat, his stop, and Tezuka watched through the window pane as the train slid neatly in front of the crowd on the platform. There he was, front and centre. 

Tezuka knew the train would roll for 40 minutes down the line before it stopped at the station for the tennis gardens, but the beats of the track beneath them seemed to slow, the carriage full of jostling passengers seemed frozen under the weight of it. The note in the paper, and that he, the man with golden eyes, was right there, travelling the whole interminable length of track down to the tennis garden together with Tezuka. But the doors beeped as they opened, and the passengers swept out, and swept Tezuka with them, out, out until he was under the bright blue of the morning sky. He didn't stop, he didn't wait to see where the man with the white hat was, if he was far ahead or flagging behind and jogging to catch up. Tezuka didn't want to see. Flecks of loose gravel spun into the air and pinged against the green chain linked fences around the tennis court as Tezuka passed them. He opened the changing room door with such emphasis it collided with the inside wall, and by the time Tezuka found Fuji, buttoning his tennis shirt in front of the lockers, Tezuka's chest was heaving with anger. 

"That's a scary face, Tezuka! You should try to relax a little, or everyone will be too afraid to talk to you!" Tezuka's scowl deepened, and he took his newspaper out from under his arm and held it out to Fuji. "What is it? Were you in the news?" 

"Cute on the Commute," Tezuka said, patience thin, but Fuji just smiled at him. 

"Ohh, let me see!" He rustled the pages until he found it, the purple box and the hearts, "Oh my gosh, you got published! I'm so thrilled for you, I never thought you'd have the guts--" 

"Please stop joking around. I know you did this, Fuji." He sighed as he spoke, a sigh full of disappointment, but Fuji put a finger to his chin and cocked his head to the side. 

"Me? Do such a thing? Do I look a guy with a stern face and glasses to you?" Tezuka narrowed his eyes, and Fuji saw it and giggled, "Oh come on, lighten up, would you!" He reached out with the paper in his hand, batting Tezuka's arm with it lightly, "It's only a bit of fun -- and who knows! If your mystery man sees it, maybe you'll get some real action." Fuji stood up and walked to one of the mirrors and fiddled with his hair, "And I don't mean a tennis match, but you might get one of those too, never know your luck in a raffle!" He turned back to Tezuka, "I'll wait on the C court, okay?" 

"Find a new opponent for today," Tezuka said. He opened his locker and stood behind the door so Fuji was obscured from his view. 

"What! Don't be upset with me, Tezuka, I was only trying to help!" Fuji waited for a reply, and when he didn't get one, he stepped around Tezuka and looked at him from the other side of the locker. Tezuka pretended not to notice him, "Alright, okay. So I know it was more mischief on my part than anything else. I'll admit that. But what if something DOES come of it? That would be a good thing, right? Couldn't you give me the benefit of the doubt?" 

Tezuka busied himself with the buttons on his shirt. "You need a new opponent for today," was all he would offer, and Fuji's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "At least for today," Tezuka said, "we'll see about tomorrow." Fuji opened his mouth but Tezuka held up a hand, palm flat in front of Fuji's face. "I'll see you tomorrow." he said, firmly. 

But strolling through the busy courts, those players who arrived and left earlier than he usually did were all already engaged, busy with matches of their own. He made his way down though the blocks of green fences, to the courts usually reserved for the beginners, paying for coaching, and, standing outside the fence, watching for a time when it was safe to do so, Tezuka opened the large gate and slipped inside. The coach spotted him, motioned to his class to keep practicing strokes, and walked over to the gate, rubbing his hands together. "Tezuka! What brings you all the way down here!" he said, with his toothy smile. 

"I find myself without an opponent this morning. I was wondering if I might assist you with your coaching activities for today?" Tezuka nodded at the group, slicing the air with their racquets and inevitably clashing as they drew them back. 

"Oh, yeah, that'll be great! We could have you give some demonstrations, maybe a little friendly match at the end-- nothing too brutal, you understand," he said, patting Tezuka's shoulder carefully, "but enough to motivate them. You know. Be inspiring. Sound okay to you?" Tezuka nodded, and the coach ushered him towards the class, with a hand on Tezuka's shoulder blades. "Class! This is Tezuka, he's one of our more famous players here at the gardens. Today he's very kindly agreed to give up his training hours to assist with today's class!" The group bowed and said thank you, but Tezuka's focus was stolen away from him. In the block of courts closest to the one Tezuka was now standing, he spotted Fuji, talking and shaking hands with a man in a white tennis hat. Fuji looked up, and smiled at Tezuka, waving, and the man with the white hat turned and looked at him. Tezuka couldn't see the golden eyes from this distance, but he knew, even so, he knew who Fuji's replacement opponent was. And the man in the hat smirked, and gave a little, unenthusiastic wave, before he turned back to Fuji. 

Tezuka's head was pounding, as he sat in the cold metal chairs in the welcoming shade of the station. His mind was overflowing with horrible scenarios -- Fuji had told the man, told him everything; Fuji showed him the newspaper and said Tezuka wrote it; Fuji told the man that Tezuka was in the beginners' class at the tennis club -- and each individual thought jostled for his attention like rush hour commuters in their silent battle for the remaining seats. The harder each idea fought for prime position, the more it took on the meanest aspects of its neighbour, until Tezuka felt his whole body was being lashed with wave upon wave of indistinct dread and humiliation. Train horns flared and made him grit his teeth against the ache in his temple, and somewhere nearby, someone's music under their headphones seethed out of the headphones, and poisoning the vibrations in the air and making them unbearable. Tezuka's hands were clenched tight around the edges of the metal arm rests, his knuckles a searing white. And the second-hand sound of music through headphones passed close in front of him.

It was him. He adjusted the brim of his hat to check the time on the arrival board, one hand in his pocket. Then he shrugged his tennis bag higher onto his shoulder, and pulled out his phone. Tezuka watched, knowing that this appearance ate into everything he had been dreading, and knowing furthermore that it ought not to change anything. Yet, as he watched, his mind calmed itself, and the man looked up suddenly and spotted Tezuka. The man fiddled with his phone for a few more seconds, then tore the headphones out of his ears and took the seat next to Tezuka. 

"'sup?" the man said. Tezuka blinked at him, and then he looked down at his feet. 

"Hello," Tezuka said, after a pause. The station carried on with its rush of sound and activity, but only silence flowed between those two metal seats. 

"Tezuka-san… right?" the man said, and Tezuka nodded. "I heard it from the smiley guy. Fuji-san. He said you're older than him, or something." He narrowed his eyes as he recalled it, "Like it pissed 'im off…" 

"Forgive me," Tezuka said, "may I ask you for your name?" Those large golden eyes blinked, and then the man smirked.

"Echizen Ryoma," he said, with a laugh. He held out his hand, "Nice ta meetcha," Tezuka took his hand and they shook. "I'm the one who's gonna knock you off your pedestal!" he said. 

Tezuka ran those words through his head several times, but to no avail. He opened his mouth, frowning, but then the voice overhead announced their train.

"It's here," Echizen said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dabbed at it with his thumb. "Can I sit by you?" he said, without looking up. Tezuka nodded, then realised Echizen wasn't looking, so he gave a small noise in the affirmative. And the train rolled up, so the two of them got to their feet and boarded. There was no argument, or even any discussion about where to sit. Tezuka walked on steady feet to the seat he always took on the train ride home, sitting in close to the window, and Echizen followed him without a word and sat beside him. Tezuka got himself settled, removing his bag and his jacket, and then glanced at Echizen, but he remained fixated on his phone. Tezuka let his tension drop. This must be about something, but then, what if it really wasn't. It sat uneasily on his stomach -- sit beside this stranger, one he kept thinking bizarre, dramatic thoughts about -- sit beside him and realise how foolish it all was, and say nothing. But Fuji would not have said nothing; Tezuka tried to keep his mind from following that line of thought, but it was about as easy as willing his eyes to keep track of the blurring buildings that smeared across the window and then disappeared. 

Fuji would not have said nothing. Fuji had smiled at Tezuka, on the neighbouring court, and said, without looking at Echizen, see that serious looking man over there? With the glasses? --Here Echizen would have turned around, smirked, and waved, and probably Echizen said, I see that man on the train sometimes. I saw him recently, and here Fuji would say, exactly, he greeted you yesterday right? Truth is, he has a crush on you. And Echizen would, no doubt, be repulsed, or perhaps he would laugh, and Fuji would say, but you see, that guy-- Tezuka is his name -- he's really good at tennis and he knows it. He's better than me, older than me too, and he just loves lording it over people. See those people in that court? That's the beginner's class. He's there to make a fool of them all, it helps him to feel good about himself. Echizen would surely have said something like, what a horrible person! And then Fuji must have said, but that's it: he is, and he deserves to be taken down a peg, don't you think? And since he has that disgusting crush on you, I have the perfect idea… 

Echizen looked up suddenly and said, "Sorry 'bout that, texting my coach," Tezuka blinked, startled, and nodded a little unsteadily. "So anyway, about taking you off your pedestal," Echizen began to grin as he said it, and Tezuka couldn't stop himself from sighing. 

"I have no idea what Fuji said to you, but you should be aware that I wasn't best pleased with him this morning and we had a disagreement," Tezuka watched Echizen frowning and blinking as he explained, "so I would take that into consideration before you form your opinion of me." Tezuka let himself breath out, resting his hands, one on each knee, and looking down at them. He counted to three in his head, and then stared at the back of the seat in front of him.

"'Kay?" Echizen said, "So… there's no problem so long as I don't disappoint you, right?" Tezuka tried to find some hidden meaning or explanation in the confident look on Echizen's face, but he couldn't grasp it. "Trust me, I'll do it. I'll definitely do it." Tezuka narrowed his eyes, but found himself without an answer. He turned to look out of the window, at the sizzling blue and sharp silver, hitting the sun back into his eyes. 

"Did Fuji… mention something about a newspaper article, by any chance?" Tezuka said, words trembling out of his mouth with the dread he felt in his heart, but desperately wanted to conceal. 

"What? The article?" Echizen put his phone onto his knee and leant forward, to try and look at Tezuka's face; Tezuka resisted the urge to turn and face him, "I already knew about it. I mean, that's why I'm here!" Tezuka turned to him after all. 

"That article… that wasn't me," Tezuka said, but his heart was pounding in his ears and maybe the heat was more than he was prepared for. He put his fingers to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the sound of Echizen rustling in his bag. 

"Want some?" he said, and Tezuka opened his eyes to see a can of soft drink right under his nose. Tezuka took it in his hand and nodded in thanks, and he was holding it in his lap before he remembered that he doesn't drink soft drinks. "Article wasn't you? But, you're Tezuka-san, right? When I asked you, you said that you were." Echizen's stare was heavy, so Tezuka pulled back the ring pull and let the can click and hiss at him, before taking a sip. 

"I am Tezuka," he said, frowning, almost as if he were beginning to doubt even that, "b-but the article…" 

"So it is you, then. Good. Better be watching your back, I'm coming for you!" He flashed Tezuka a grin, before using the seat in front of him as leverage to pull himself to his feet. And the voice overhead announced Echizen's station. Echizen raised his eyes to the ceiling, with a smile, as if he were looking for the slightly robotic-sounding lady who had advised that the train was ready to stop, and then he threw one last look, and a casual wave at Tezuka, before settling his bag on his shoulder and exiting the train. 

The buzzer rattling his apartment brought Tezuka around. He pressed the handset to his ear and was greeted by the sound of two voices chattering away. One of them he recognised. "Is that you, Oishi?" He said, and the voices snapped themselves into order. 

"Ah, yeah! I came to do your check up real quick! Is that okay?" Tezuka pressed the button that unlocked the lobby door, and heard the latch click. Tezuka waited with his hand hovering just over the door handle for the 2-2-1, and he pulled it open to see a jittery Oishi, curling his fingers and looking over his shoulder. "Oh, Tezuka! Hi!" he said, gearing up his usual smile, "Don't worry, I'll be gone before you know it!" 

Tezuka stepped aside and allowed him to enter with his large black bag, full of his notes and equipment. "Is something the matter, Oishi?" and Oishi nearly jumped at the sound of Tezuka's voice. 

"N-no, not at all! Well, I want to get this over with as soon as possible, I hope you're okay with that!" He motioned for Tezuka to sit on the couch as he usually did to complete his exercises, "I know it's not terribly… professional of me… but I hope you understand…" 

"Is someone waiting for you?" 

The papers that had been shuffled neatly into a pile and cushioned in Oishi's hands, fell onto the sofa in disarray, stray medical forms drifting out along the floor and under the coffee table. Oishi looked up, his eyes wide and his cheeks red, "Oh, gosh, how did you know that?" He put a hand behind his head and scratched at his hair, "Yes, it's um. It's Eiji. I-I mentioned him to you, I think, w-we're going out a-after this, so…" 

"Invite him up," Tezuka said. He watched Oishi lean backwards, away from the chair, "go and get him. Invite him up, it's okay." Tezuka got to his feet and started fishing up the medical forms that had spread themselves across the room. 

"Really? W-well, okay," Oishi said, with a nervous -- but pleased, Tezuka thought -- laugh, "I just thought, maybe you wouldn't -- oh, I'll just be a moment!" The door swung open with energy and closed with a bang that made Tezuka wince, but he sighed to himself. And then he headed over to the kitchen to see if he had anything to offer to his guests. The excitement in the hall announced them even before the telltale 2-2-1 knocking Tezuka was fond of, and he opened the door on Oishi's sheepish grin, and another man, with wide, blue eyes, gaping at him. "Tezuka!" The name sounded funny in Oishi's mouth as he tried to speak and grin at the same time, "This is Eiji!" 

Eiji put his hand out, with a smile that curved the very ends of his lips upwards, and the glimmer in his eye was mischief as clear as day. "Pleased to meet you," Tezuka said, shaking with him, then stepping aside to let them through. 

"Likewise!!" Eiji said, bobbing through the door on springy footsteps, and gasping loudly at Tezuka's apartment. His round eyes shimmered and reflected the sunlight cascading in from the large window that let in the stylish cityscape. "Woaaah, look at this place!! You can tell it's really you!" he said, turning on his heels and skipping forward to grip Tezuka's hands in a second handshake, "I've never met a famous tennis player before!!" Tezuka blinked, and Oishi said,

"Oh, so you do recognise Tezuka?" He laughed, "He's as good as the papers say, you know! But beyond that, he's a really good person, a wonderful friend, shucks I'm just so happy you two finally get to meet each other!" Oishi's voice was higher pitched than Tezuka was used to, and its ever-steadiness was not at all steady. He turned to check on Oishi and realised that Eiji had shared his thoughts, as he said,

"Oishi! Don't cry! We were gonna meet eventually!" and when Eiji's face turned back to look at Tezuka, it was frowning and smiling and, Eiji shrugged as if to say, can you believe that guy! And Tezuka nodded because, oh yes, he could. "I'm not that starstruck!" Eiji released Tezuka's hand to prove his point, "It's not like I've never met any famous people," he leaned in to Tezuka, "I meet LOTSA famous people, comes with the job, y'know?" and he plucked up his shirt collar and grinned. 

Tezuka blinked and waited politely. Then he turned to Oishi. 

"Oh, Eiji is a stunt actor for TV! Have I never mentioned that before?" A frown clouded Eiji's face and Tezuka said, quickly,

"Oh of course, Oishi has told me everything about you," Eiji's eyes were narrowed suspiciously, "My memory sometimes suffers, I do apologise," Tezuka added. Eiji hummed at him, leaning in closer, eyes and lips thin and questioning… but then he threw an arm out towards Tezuka and waved him off, with a big laugh. 

"Only jokin', you're forgiven! To be honest half the stuff Oishi told me about you, I've forgotten already!" He chuckled as if he were proud of that fact. "Mind if I poke around your apartment? It's sooo stylish!" Tezuka did mind, but he shook his head and spread his palms in an accommodating way, and Oishi picked up his bag from the couch. 

"Shall we get this out of the way? Then me and Eiji can get out of your hair," Oishi's face was red and tight from smiling. Tezuka nodded, and sat on the couch for him. They ran through the regular exercises, raise the shoulder, rotate the shoulder, clench the fist, bend the elbow, and Oishi wrote his conclusions on the usual forms. "Looking good! I'm glad to see you haven't been tempted to push thi--" A loud peal of laughter from the kitchen cut him off. 

"What the heck's this!" Eiji said, peeping around the partition wall that divided the living area and the kitchen. He was holding a can of soft drink in his hand, and pointing to it. 

Oishi and Tezuka stared back at him in silence. "Eiji… that's a drinks can," Oishi said, with infinite patience. Eiji stopped laughing and stared back at Oishi. 

"I know that, genius!" He snapped, "but it's just so… so… out of place! Have you ever seen inside Tezuka's fridge!!" and that statement was enough to force another belly laugh. "He has… he has!" Eiji clutched his stomach to try and stop himself from shaking, but it had no effect, "Oishi, he has prunes in there!!" A tear glistened at the corner of his eye, and he swept it away with his knuckle as he continued to hoot with laughter. Tezuka turned his face to look at Oishi, and Oishi looked at him in return. 

"I'm sorry, Tezuka," Oishi said, with a frown and a helpless shrug, and Tezuka tightened his lips into something not worthy to be labelled a smile. Oishi looked back at his forms and continued writing down Tezuka's progress. "You should know, Eiji, in case things get serious between us: I love prunes," and Oishi didn’t look up in time to see the mask of true horror that descended over Eiji's face. "They're very healthy, too," Oishi said, with a smile, "Keep you regular." 

Eiji's mouth dropped open, and he clawed at his hair with both his hands, "What in the world--" he yelled, and dashed over to Tezuka's desk, where a classy calendar stood next to his phone, "What year is it!? Have I travelled through time, and now everyone is old EXCEPT ME!?" He put his palms over his face, "God I hope I'm not old! I'm too pretty to be old!" Tezuka frowned, but Oishi smiled and shook his head.

"It is strange, though, I thought you didn't like soft drinks?" Oishi said, as politely as he could, while putting away his equipment. Tezuka blinked. 

"I don't," he said, and two pairs of interested eyes fixed on him. "It was a gift, I suppose. From Echizen?" 

"Oooh, who's this Echizen?" Eiji said, and Oishi pulled his head back in surprise, "What! Clearly it's not someone YOU know, Oishi, ya never mentioned him to me!" Eiji leaned in closer to Tezuka, "plus, he can't know Tezuka very well if he gave him a soft drink for a present," his lips twitched, "and not… prunes…" Eiji clamped his lips shut, but it wasn't enough to keep the laughter contained, and so it puffed out the corners of his lips like a whoopee cushion deflating -- a sound, Tezuka thought, Eiji was probably familiar with. 

"I spoke about him to you on my last check up visit," Tezuka said, keeping his voice calm, but he felt like there was heat spreading out under the frame of his glasses. "A man who rides the same train as me. He's at the club." Oishi pointed a finger out at Tezuka. 

"So THAT's Echizen… so you talked to him, did you? I'm so pleased!" Oishi chuckled to himself, "Tezuka's never been the best at making friends, I'm sure you can't tell," he said to Eiji, and Eiji's expression told a story Tezuka didn't want to reflect upon. "I'm so happy you're putting yourself out there! Did you play a match with him, or?" 

Tezuka shook his head. "I saw him at the station. We talked on the train." 

"And he gave you a drink?" Eiji said, blinking rapidly, "maybe he likes you!" He drew out the length of the word 'likes', bringing his tone straight down to middle schooler level. "Train food is really expensive y'know! I might fall for a guy who'd give me free stuff in that kind of situation," and he looked up and bat his eyes at Oishi, who laughed. 

"Alright, I'll treat you on the way home, too, I get the hint!" He said, and Eiji jumped up and down on the spot in celebration, rattling Tezuka's tennis trophies on the fireplace. Oishi chuckled as he passed the medical forms to Tezuka, "Sign there, as usual, and I'll get this troublemaker out of your hair," he said, and he reached over to ruffle Eiji's hair in compensation for what he must have done -- in spirit -- to Tezuka's impeccable hairstyle. Tezuka smoothed a piece of his fringe between his fingers as he thought about it, and clicked on the pen to sign. "I really am so glad for you, though, Tezuka, it really warms my heart! I mean, since I met Eiji --" He paused here to smile self-consciously, and his face bloomed in pink on his cheekbones, "I just, gosh, I've just been thinking about how wonderful it is to have incredible people in your life, and how much I'd like for you to know what that feels like-- I just…!" 

Eiji poked his tongue out and made gagging noises. "Careful Oishi, don't make him upchuck his prunes!" There was a momentary pause as if Eiji were startled by his own joke. "Prunes!" he said, passing a hand over his forehead and doubling over with laughter. Tezuka sighed quietly and handed the papers back to Oishi. 

"Thank you, Oishi," he said, "as usual," and Oishi's brow was furrowed as his eyes shot to Eiji and back to Tezuka, "don't worry, I'm having fun," he said, knowing his voice would sound flat, but meaning it, really, in his heart.

"Well, it's alright?" Oishi said, a puzzled look on his face, "I'll see you again for our next check up -- c'mon, Eiji!" He reached out his hand and Eiji grasped it in his, and together they walked to the door. Tezuka followed them, standing behind it as they passed out of his apartment. 

"It was nice meeting you, Eiji," Tezuka said, and Eiji said his, and you! And somehow managed not to laugh through it. "You two should drop by again sometime," Tezuka said, and the smile that shone on Oishi's face was worth putting that offer out there. 

"I'd really like that, Tezuka," he said. 

Tezuka drew his sheets about him, though it was hot, too hot, his legs sticking to his pyjamas with sweat. The whole day rested on his temples, thundering in his head as the clouds over the apartment block did, constricting the hot air like giant fists closing, making lightning bolts. The flashes lit his room, but with his glasses off, he didn't see anything; the cameras of journalists taking his picture and not caring where they aimed or if he was ready, and Echizen beside him, smiling, smug. "I knew it since he put that note in the paper," Echizen said, and Tezuka's heart panicked and he jolted awake. The paper. Tezuka sat up and rubbed his eyes, listening to the murmuring applause of raindrops against his window. "Better be watching your back!" And what if Fuji had known him before? Tezuka unfolded his glasses and slid them onto his face, Fuji visited a lot of the clubs in the area, played a lot of tournaments. And what if Fuji had bumped into Echizen at one of those events, said, there's a guy who's really uptight at my regular club -- he takes this train at this time every morning, catch him then and make him notice you. Then, we'll show him-- 

But Tezuka saw Oishi's face, overwhelmed with happiness, "Just, gosh, I've been thinking about how wonderful it is…!" and the little way Eiji skipped to take his hand, the way they giggled and smiled with each other. Tezuka clutched at the buttons on his pyjama shirt. And can you plan for that? Can you say, I know how to make someone feel the way they felt? The lightning flashed, and Tezuka blinked it out, but it remained a dim blue rectangle imprinted on the back of his eyes. It came without warning, and even when he wanted it to, it didn't fade, and who was Fuji to twist the air to try and make him unable to see? Tezuka looked with defiance upon the newspaper stand in the station, and he watched his hand close around the topmost copy, and gripped it tight in his fist, until it rolled into a cylinder. He shook his umbrella out on the platform and kept it by his side. The platform filled with the fervour of commuters, not taking any risks walking in the rain, and so, once he'd boarded, Tezuka took up his usual straphanger from the first stop. Station by station, the crowd piled up around him, and at Echizen's stop, he hadn't even the room to turn to the window to check for him.

Each step on the pavement, out onto the way to the tennis gardens, splashed back at his ankles and made his trouser legs and socks damp and unpleasant -- Fuji smiling at him, damp and unpleasant. But the sky above held back on further outpourings, and Tezuka reached his palm out beyond the circumference of his umbrella, and was given nothing by the big grey clouds. And, closing the umbrella, he was able to see a crack through the grey, and the bright warm blue that peeked out at him, and suddenly the edges of every water bead glowed with the promise of a nice afternoon. And Tezuka checked his watch at the green gates of the tennis garden, and shook out the newspaper he hadn't the space to read on the train. He pulled apart the pages with the little purple box and looked for it. 

To the man in the white hat, it appears I have made a miscalculation in assuming you might read the newspaper. I will have to approach you on my own initiative -- but should you see this, meet me half way? Maybe, on the courts? Same guy, same stern face, same glasses. 

"Oh, Tezuka!" Fuji looked up from tying his shoes in the locker room, "Have you forgiven m--" the paper landed hard on the bench just in front of Fuji's foot, crinkling against the metal. "What's this?" Fuji said, looking up with his usual smile, and acting as though it was polite. 

"What do you mean by this, Fuji?" Tezuka said, folding his arms. Fuji looked at him, then at the paper and back. He picked it up and opened his eyes wider than he normally held them to read the writing in the purple box. 

"My, aren't you forward, Tezuka!" Fuji said with a chuckle. 

"Fuji." 

"Okay, don't be cross with me!" Fuji laid the paper back on the bench and put both his feet on the floor. He dusted himself off, and then said, "well, it is what it says it is. I made a mistake thinking that, just because YOU read this paper, maybe Echizen would-- that's his name, by the way, Echizen. I know you saw us but we managed to talk yesterday." He curled a finger under his lip and used his other hand to clasp his elbow, "it was a very interesting conversation, let me tell you. And one of the many pertinent details I learned from him is that he doesn't seem to read the newspaper." 

Tezuka swallowed. There was a mist in his head which didn't seem to want to clear with last night's rain clouds. "I spoke to him yesterday, too," and Fuji's eyes opened in surprise, "but he told me that he had read it. He read the paper." Fuji stared at him for a moment, and then fished up the paper, eyes visibly gliding over the words of his most recent personal ad.

"Well, then, it seems that my efforts were not in vain after all," he held the paper up in his hand and pointed to the purple box, tilting his head to one side, "especially if it got him to talk to you!" and he closed his eyes again in that distinctive smile of his. "And so when he reads this one…!" 

Tezuka felt the pressure that had built up in his head rush over his cheeks and Fuji giggled at him. "Fuji, I want you to tell Echizen the truth. You must tell him that you wrote those words." 

"How can I do that, Tezuka? He clearly thinks the same way as you, if reading this made him approach you," he tapped the purple box with his fingertip and grinned. "Imagine lying to me though, what an impudent kid!" 

"Fuji, please tell him I never wrote that comment in the paper," Tezuka sighed, because he tried to make a point of never speaking these next words to Fuji, "please, I beg of you." Fuji caught it instantly. He let the paper drop to his side and opened his mouth in a wide smile. 

"You beg? Oh, dear! You must really want this, Tezuka!" Fuji's soft laugh made Tezuka shudder. "Very well, if you're prepared to forgive me for this, I suppose I should be prepared to undo my horrible misdeeds!" He walked past Tezuka and slapped his shoulder as he crossed by, "so I'll see you on our usual court then?" Fuji stood still and waited. 

"Yes. If that's what you require." Tezuka said, frowning down at his shoes as Fuji patted his shoulder again. 

"Then consider it done!" 

Tezuka zipped up his bag, containing his slightly soggy travelling clothes, and pushed it into his locker. He closed the door, enjoying the weight of the metal-on-metal as the door crashed into its frame. He exhaled. The storm clouds had passed over the city but they stayed above Tezuka's pounding head, and the footsteps he heard on the rubber pimpled floor behind him forced a small crackle of thunder to quake in the clenching of his fists and the furrowing of his brow. "'Sup," said that now-familiar voice. Tezuka eased a slow breath out, a breeze to blow over the heavy weather of his mind, and turned. Echizen smirked at him. Tezuka blinked and nodded in greeting. 

"Hello," he said, as Echizen shrugged his tennis bag off his shoulder and planted it on the metal bench. He talked without looking up from what he was doing, and Tezuka realised that Echizen's voice was quite muffled. Tezuka leaned closer to listen. 

"--brought it, 'cause after what you said, I had to check. But I was right," and Echizen turned around, holding up a battered newspaper clipping out for Tezuka to take. "I saved it, so I knew I wasn't wrong," he added. Tezuka held it up to his nose. It was an article about the friendly matches Tezuka had participated in during the winter months. He had been selected to represent the club at the exhibition match, and one of the journalists who covered the event had taken a shine to Tezuka, spotlighting him as the Greatest Talent the Tennis Garden Has Ever Known. Tezuka narrowed his eyes at the article and handed it back to Echizen. He wanted to say, so what? But Echizen put in before him, "Can't deny it, can you? You're the one I was looking for, Tezuka Kunimitsu." 

"I did play in that event," Tezuka conceded, "although I had no say in what was written here. Journalists like these tend to exaggerate from time to time," he said, and he turned to find his racquet. 

"Yeah, that's what I figured you meant," Echizen said, his voice still somehow fuzzy once Tezuka couldn't see his lips. Tezuka turned back and watched him, patiently. Echizen pulled down on the brim of his white cap, "'sorta thing happens to me a lot, too. I never ask for it, but it happens." He looked up and his eyes were a muted gold under the shade of his cap. "But this is the man I came to beat, Tezuka Kunimitsu," he poked his finger against the photograph in the article, "The Greatest Talent, Tezuka Kunimitsu." And as Echizen grinned, the sun finally broke through the clouds outside and bled in through the slots that served as windows, high up on the locker room wall.

Tezuka stood, blinking, watching in silence, and as the moment ticked away, Echizen's grin started to falter. "You came here to beat me?" Tezuka said, and Echizen's eyes sharpened, taking Tezuka's surprise for arrogance. 

"Don't think I won't, lotta people I've met have a lot to learn," Echizen said, through pursed lips, and his shoulders arched in a show of defiance. 

"Pardon me," Tezuka said, straightening his posture and then bowing in a formal way. When he looked up again, Echizen's expression was a confusion he tried, but didn't quite manage, to mask. "Would you like to play a match against me?" Tezuka said. 

"Well, yeah," Echizen said, kicking his feet on the ground and causing his trainers to squeak against the rubber, "that's what I said. It's what I said yesterday, too…" Tezuka felt his lips part in a shallow gasp, and Echizen heard it and narrowed his eyes, "Said I'd knock you off your pedestal, didn't I?"

And the feeling rushed down over Tezuka, pouring over his shoulders and filling up his cheeks like a hot rain. It was relief, or maybe in the way droplets of it rebounded in his stomach and made warm ripples, it felt like excitement. Head and heart thudded in the same way they had been, last night they had been in the dark of that storm, but in the clearing light of today they laboured, free from the weight of his thoughts. Tezuka's face felt taut under his glasses, but he prayed it wasn't red, or if it had to be, he prayed for Echizen not to notice, or to comment. He breathed in, and out, and the tips of his fringe, still damp from the morning rain, flickered in the updraft. And Tezuka said, "Yes, I recall that you did say that," and saw Echizen's face relax, and Tezuka said, "would you be free to play a match right now?" to which, Echizen replied by fishing a racquet out of his bag and beating the gut against his palm. 

"Sure," he said, but that short word belied the shimmering gold Tezuka saw in those large eyes. 

They walked out to the courts only a few moments later, standing at the cross in the path and agreeing on a court. They passed the tall green fences in silence, but as they neared Tezuka's recommended spot, the gate that opened onto the court burst open and Fuji rushed out to meet them. Tezuka tried to hurry by, but Echizen slowed his pace and raised his eyebrows at Fuji, who said, "Echizen! I have something to confess to you!" Tezuka stopped so his back was to the both of them, but still within hearing distance. "It's really important, Tezuka begged me to tell you." Tezuka could feel the weight of Echizen's eyes on his back. 

"Yeah? What?" Echizen said, in his quiet voice.

"It's about the Cute on the Commute personal ads," Fuji said, and Tezuka heard the sound of paper rustling. He turned and saw Fuji's arm reach out to throw two copies of Tezuka's favourite newspaper into Echizen's hands. Echizen shook his head as he moved his eyes over the page, trying to find what Fuji was talking about, "the little, the purple box," Fuji said quickly, stepping forward to point to it, and Echizen said, ah, gotcha, and squinted at it. Tezuka stepped back towards them and put his hand out, but he felt space stretching out between him and his friends, and his hand simply would not reach. Fuji continued, "Tezuka wanted me to come clean. He didn't write those ads to get your attention. I wrote them-- not to get your attention, but I wrote them so that Tezuka would get your attention," he tilted his head and gestured in Tezuka's direction. Echizen looked up from the paper with an alarmed expression. "So I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry for confessing Tezuka's crush on you." Fuji put his hand on his heart and closed his eyes in a solemn gesture, but Echizen just looked rapidly between Fuji, Tezuka and the paper in his hand. 

"I-it's cool," Echizen said, pulling down the tip of his hat, but the contrast of the white made his cheeks seem so rose red, "I-I mean, I didn't… know…" he said. His hands clenched the newspaper tightly.

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say!" Fuji said, and turned on his heel. 

"Echizen?" Tezuka said, but his voice was quaking. Echizen jumped, but he kept his face, and the brim of his hat, pointed to the ground. 

"Y-yeah, what? Sorry?" and Tezuka didn't know what he was going to say either, "I-I just, I never… I mean, crushes…?" 

"Do you still want to play tennis?" Tezuka said, and Echizen looked up seriously -- and then caught himself, and looked away quickly. 

"Hell yeah!" he said, through chattering teeth, face red and determined.


End file.
